


Prayers

by Deviant_Accumulation



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deviant_Accumulation/pseuds/Deviant_Accumulation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean prayed for him every night. Castiel heard him every night. He just wishes the words would stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prayers

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my mother tongue, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

He runs. The woods around him are cast in dim light, the dead arms of the trees with a few brown leaves still clinging to them reaching upwards to the grey sky, that holds the promise of the soon fall of night, which never comes. In Purgatory, there is no night and no day. Just an eternal twilight that seems to suck the the colour out of everything. The dead leaves make too much noise under his feet for his likening, the sound like traitorous whispers to his ears, a silent screaming of 'Here, here he is, catch him' and the paranoia makes him run even faster, because the whispers of the leaves are swallowed by the whispers of his persecutors, promises of pain and death and even more pain. There is a thirst of blood in the air like a thick fog, invisible to the eye, but still suffocating him. He does not know where he is running. There probably is not even anything one could run to. Just the endless woods, dead trees and scrubs, which should be rotting, but aren't caught in between like the day and night. The sweetly sick odour of putrefaction hangs in the air nonetheless and fills his mouth as he finally stops and allows himself to take deep breaths. The whispers are still there, but the menacing presence, like a thundercloud at the horizon is gone for now.  
He lets himself sink down the trunk of the tree, his coat dragging through the dirt, and looks up at the net of branches above his head, allowing his body to rest for a bit.  
 _'Cas.'_  
He's up his feet in less than the blink of an eye, heart beat a fast staccato in his ears, eyes darting around, fear constricting his throat because _they finally got him and they will make him pay._  
It takes a moment till he realizes that the voice doesn't belong to a Leviathan. The next he wishes it would.  
A rusty, slightly awkward sounding chuckle is ringing in his ears and he closes his eyes in defeat.  
“God, this is pretty pathetic... I don't even know if you can hear me right now, purgatory not good for transmitting, dunno...” Dean's voice ( _familiar, so familiar_ ) is slightly trailing off at the end, a hint of uncertainness clinging to it. There is a brief silence during which Castiel hopes that maybe Dean has given up, given up on trying to get through to him, given up _on him_.  
“Though you probably can, high and mighty angelic powers and all that.” The voice sound confident, but there's an edge of desperation clinging to it, a pleading note that Castiel wants to silence. Instead he screws his eyes shut.  
“Have always been pretty shitty at those things. Praying and all this stuff. Well, you probably already know that by now.” This time it's more of a real chuckle, an underlying fondness under the deep rumbling sound. Castiel doesn't want fondness. He wants the suffocating silence back, the menacing whispers and the blood curling screams of the lost souls that are forever stuck here.  
“I don't know what to do, Cas.” It's quieter this time and every fibre in his being _aches_. “I've been searching and asking every one of those sons of bitches about you, but nobody knows and it just feels like... time's running out.” A tired sigh. “One moment you were there and the next you were gone and I don't know what happened. Or who took you or if you... if you aren't already dead by now.” There's a crack in his voice at the end of the sentence and Castiel curls up on himself, hands hovering right above his ears, trembling.  
“I just hope you're alright.” His hands clench down on his ears, fingernails digging in the skin. “Knowing our luck, you probably aren't – but I'm not just going to write you off, you've proved me wrong often enough I guess.” _No, don't, just forget me, **please**._ “So, wherever you are right now, I'm coming for you.” He wants to scream, to drown the sound of the voice of his friend, the voice that helds so much faith even after everything what happened, he wants to drown himself.  
“And if I'll have to smash every one of these rotten creature's heads on my way, I'm coming to get you.”   
_Dean._  
“I'm not leaving without you.”  
 _I'm sorry._


End file.
